


Once We Were

by lacksley



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Longing, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-10
Packaged: 2018-07-22 17:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7447348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacksley/pseuds/lacksley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>She was scared.</i><br/><i>Her face was bare, the </i>vallaslin<i> that her friends and family ignorantly wore with pride, gone. Her adulthood taken—</i>ar lasa mala revas<i>—and she still couldn’t decide if she felt free.</i></p><p>Post-main campaign, Lavellan returns to her clan. An attempt to deal with the pain of this romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once We Were

The leaving was harder than she thought.  _ It’s only for a week,  _ she said.  _ I need to see my clan.  _

She was scared.

Her face was bare, the  _ vallaslin  _ that her friends and family ignorantly wore with pride,  _ gone. _ Her adulthood taken— _ ar lasa mala revas— _ and she still couldn’t decide if she felt free.

She approaches the camp, face concealed under a heavy scarf. She calls out to the hunters by name, and they recognize her voice. Keeper Deshanna stands in front of her aravel, looking more weathered and aged than the last time the inquisitor saw her, but still with the same smile.

“Aneth ara, da’len. It is good to see you return to us.” Her brow quirks at Lavellan’s covered face.

“Aneth ara, Keeper.” The inquisitor hesitates, and the empty spaces left by her vallaslin burn her face. “We need to speak privately.” She follows Deshanna into her aravel, and sits cross-legged on the floor.

“We have heard many tales of your feats with the Inquisition. I am sure the clan would be quite interested in hearing them.” Lavellan stares into her lap. “Why do you cover your face, da’len? Is something the matter?”

“Before I explain, I… I need you to see, Keeper.” Deshanna watches patiently as Lavellan unwraps her face. It is bare, the symbols of Mythal gone. Deshanna gasps.

“Da’len, what happened to you?” Lavellan looks her in the eyes.

“You wish to hear a tale of the Inquisition? You shall have it.” She breathes deeply before beginning.

“I met a man who knew much of the Beyond. He was a dreamer, and spent much of his life searching through ancient memories that lingered there. Many were of _Elvhenan_ and he discovered many things. There were _slaves_ in Arlathan, Keeper. And the vallaslin we wear with _pride_ were their marks.” Deshanna raises a hand to her mouth in horror.

“I… I cannot…” Deshanna squeaks out the words before falling silent, her mouth opening and closing wordlessly.

“I asked him to remove my vallaslin because the Dalish vowed to never submit to slavery.”

“Da’len, do you know what this means? We have… for  _ centuries _ our people _ … _ I…” She rubs her forehead. The inquisitor shifts uncomfortably.

“I am not sure it would be wise to share this with the rest of the clan,” Deshanna finally sighs.

“Maybe we, we could give the young a choice and let the practice fade away?” Lavellan offers, knowing Deshanna’s answer before it is spoken.

“I do not think that would work, da’len.” Deshanna smiles sadly. “I will need time to consider this. For now, I offer you space in my aravel for the length of your visit.”

That night, she cannot sleep.

So she walks.

It had been raining a few hours before, so the grass was wet and a heavy mist hung in the air.

She could not see the stars.

The forest is silent, something she fails to take note of.  Her clan doesn’t know what to make of her, her bare face. Whispers of betrayal and hatred,  _ flat-ear, shemlen,  _ plague her thoughts and her heart jumps in her throat as a menacing shadow looms over her.

A wolf in the mist.

The statue of Fen’Harel, ever silent in his vigil of the forest outside the camp, and she feels silly for being afraid. A wolf made of stone can cause no pain— _ harden your heart to a cutting edge— _ save to those clumsy enough to stub their toes in the darkness.

She passes the statue, leaving the outskirts of the camp. She walks aimlessly, the mist clinging to her skin and soaking her hair, and she finds herself at a small moonlit pool. Unthinking, she strips down and slides into the cool water soundlessly.

Closing her eyes, she walks deeper and deeper into the water. It tickles the undersides of her breasts and she feels his hand at the small of her back, tugging her closer, their noses bump together— _ you are so beautiful— _ and she asks, “Why?”

And he is gone, sucked away and she sits up gasping for air in the quiet of Deshanna’s aravel.

She leaves the clan the next day, her bare face too much for her clan to handle. Her shame at knowing the truth too great. It was not making Deshanna’s decision any easier.

Part of her knows she won’t be returning. Not for a long time, if ever again— _ you deserve better— _ She’s not Dalish anymore, not really. She walks out of camp…

And pauses at the statue of Fen’Harel. Pointed in the same direction as her dream, stone eyes following her movements. She hesitates, then approaches, and brushes fallen leaves from the wolf’s head. 

She does not look back.

 

Three months later, she is walking outside of Skyhold. Trying to clear her head, when she sees him.

Not  _ him,  _ of course— _ what we had was real _ —but a wolf. A great black wolf. It regards her curiously from the boulder it stands on, and she notes that it is alone.  _ A wolf without its pack. _ A Dalish without her clan.

Her body moves of its own accord, and she raises a clenched fist into the air. A silent shout, and the creature regards her curiously for a moment. It raises its head to the clear night sky and lets out a long, mournful howl. She blinks, and the wolf is gone. Its cry echoes off the mountains and fills her heart with a heavy aching.

Snow begins to fall softly, muting the world as she walks back to Skyhold.

 

Wolves appear more frequently in her dreams now. Two years after he left, and the Inquisition is called into action once more. To defend itself instead of Thedas.

In the chaos of the Exalted Council, she is glad to be among friends once more. They ask for news of him, driving half-melted shards of ice into her heart. She always smiles and says  _ no, no no no. _

As the mark worsens, so do her dreams.

As the Council continues, the deception worsens.

She feels as though the world she built for herself after the Breach was being ripped away once again, like all that time ago.

And after all the searching, the places she wished she could have healed and the people she wished she could have saved, he appears before her, calm and contemplative. His words reach her ears, but her heart roars in her head.

_ Tricksters in literature—the jawbone necklace—god of rebellion—in this age—rare and marvelous spirit—I hope he finds a new name—draw my attention from the fade—in another world—you saw more than most—the wolves so many wolves— _ it all falls into place.

“The Dread Wolf,” she whispers, tears slipping from her eyes for the first time in years. The smile that crosses his face is smaller and more fleeting than a snowflake, and the half-melted shards of ice in her heart freeze completely.

 

She calls out to him in broken Elvish, cradling her broken arm and broken heart. Again, he leaves her.

 

The leaving was harder than she thought.  _ It’s only one day,  _ she told them.  _ I need to rest. _

The small cottage built for her high in the Frostbacks, close enough to Skyhold for emergencies, far enough for solitude, was meant to be hers alone. She makes the hike herself, using her staff as a cane. Immediately, she collapses into bed and falls into a deep sleep.

The great black wolf is there, waiting for her. Its green eyes pierce her.

“Solas,” she breathes, and his name is barely audible but crashes through the silence of the Fade like a hammer striking iron. The wolf takes a step towards her—

And transforms into a man.

He is just as she remembers him from before, without the intense aura of magic but the same intense sadness in his eyes.

“I should have known,” he murmurs. She steps forward, once. He holds her gaze. “You were never going to let go.” Slowly, they gravitate toward each other, until there is a sliver of space separating their bodies.

“And you should have known,” she breathes. She can feel the heat of his body, smell the wet leaves and herbs— _ you change everything— _ “… that I will never stop fighting for you.” A pained smile crosses his face and he leans down, lips ghosting over her cheek and whispers,

_ “Wake up.” _

**Author's Note:**

> This is an edited version of a fic I posted on [tumblr](http://serknosos.tumblr.com/) right after I finished the game (before Trespasser came out). I added a more DLC-compliant ending. Also posted on FF.Net


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